


F is for Friends who do Stuff Together

by Marty (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Puppet Fucking, Puppets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:25:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Marty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cool wood of his forehead seems to feel almost warmer under your lips when you kiss him, and you crack a little smile. "You're blushing, dude." Your thumb strokes across one rosy-red cheek, and you kiss him again, closer, this time, to his cheek. To his mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	F is for Friends who do Stuff Together

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to apologize for that title because it was a suggestion and honestly I couldn't not go with it. I also sort of want to apologize for the general content of this? Yeah. That's a thing.
> 
> [on tumblr](http://legendarydeathclaw.tumblr.com/post/18106012000/vacate-the-premises-i-wrote-dirk-lil-cal-no)

You're never anything but gentle when you hold Cal. He is your best friend, after all--he raised you, in his own strange way, and he's the one who's there for you when you need someone to hold, and he's the one who's there for you when you need someone to talk to.

Cal is your best friend.

The cool wood of his forehead seems to feel almost warmer under your lips when you kiss him, and you crack a little smile. "You're blushing, dude." Your thumb strokes across one rosy-red cheek, and you kiss him again, closer, this time, to his cheek. To his mouth.

"Cal, can I...?"

He knows what you mean, and he answers without words, of course he does, he always does, but you wrap your arms around his slim waist and pull him towards you, mouth finding his forehead again, then his cheek, then his perfect lips. You kiss him, long and slow, pulling away to take in a breath and then going back to the kiss.

Then, his lips part and your tongue moves past wooden teeth, and you press his body to yours and slide a hand down his back slowly, finding that little hole in his seam, the tight little hole you've been promising to fix for almost a month. You push your finger into him and lean your forehead against his, meeting his eyes through your shades. You pull away a moment, take the shades off and set them on the bedside table, then look back at him, eyes meeting his.

"One more time, Cal," you find yourself saying, voice soft, finger playing with Cal's inner stuffing. "One last time and then I'll sew you up, good as new."

His head moves in just the slightest of nods, so you take hold of his narrow hips, pull them down against yourself, grinding against him.

"Tonight, I promise. I'll fix you up. This won't happen again." A pause. "Of course I enjoy it. I just don't want this to be all I have you for. You're my best friend, Cal." He has nothing to say to this (he never does, you've got some fucking screws loose, he's a goddamn puppet, he's like your brother, you love him so much) so you push into him, slow and gentle, moaning already at the way his stuffing surrounds you so completely.

The fabric is tight around you, shallow thrusts turning to deeper thrusts. Encouraging little whispers of his name turn to drawn out, quiet whines about how good it feels and how close you are.

You're so close, and it catches you off guard when you feel yourself lose it, coming inside of him for the first time and wincing at the way you can feel the stuffing getting sticky around you.

You'd usually know well enough when to pull out.

"Cal, Cal, I'm so sorry," you cradle him in your arms, pulling out of him and bringing him closer to you so you can properly figure out what sort of damage you've done. "I wrecked your stuffing, dude, I'm so sorry. I promise I'll fix it, right now."

You see his head shake, though, just slightly, and he's telling you to go for a nap for now, and worry about him later, so you listen to him. You tangle your legs with his, arms wrapped around the blue-eyed doll's narrow waist as his arms lay limply splayed behind him. You fall asleep, quick and easy, despite the guilt you feel.

Later on, at least an hour and a half, you wake up, beginning to move, only to stop, face cracking into a little smile.

He's got his arms wrapped around your neck in a loose sort of hug.

"Want me to fix you, now?" He nods, the movement just as barely-there as the rest of his movements. "Yeah, I've got stuffing. ... No, I'm not gonna sew you up with some hideous color. Have a little faith in me, jeez. ... Tell me what color you want, then. ... That was my plan in the first place." You let out a little laugh, standing up, being careful not to move his arms from around your neck.

You set him down on your computer desk, digging through one of the drawers until you've got a bag of stuffing, a sewing needle, orange thread, and a pair of scissors. You set each on the desk beside him, and he seems to eye the needle warily, to which you laugh, but still apologize again.

Eventually, after kissing him over and over again, your hands are on his hips again. "I'm sorry, I have to open your seam up a little further so I can make sure you're all clean." You grab the needle and lift his hips with your free hand, pushing his shirt up past his ribs and carefully pulling stitches out of the seam on his back until you can fit your hand into the hole.

You stick your hand in the hole you made, apologizing to him again, wincing when your fingers close around clumped, wrecked stuffing. You pull all the clumped bits out of him, setting them aside so you can get rid of them, and kiss him again, on the lips. "I'm sorry, Cal."

He tells you to stop apologizing and just to focus on fixing him up, so you do. You pull little bits off of the large bit of stuffing in the bag you're holding, making sure to get it into all the right places and making sure he'll be firm when you sew him back up.

You kiss him while you do this, stealing a little peck to the lips every so often and smiling down at him.

Eventually, when you've replaced all the stuffing you had to remove, you stroke one rosy cheek with your thumb.

"I'm gonna have to turn you over so I can sew you up," you say, and he doesn't have anything to say to that, so you do, keeping his shirt pushed above his ribs, careful and gentle, sewing him up along the same seam you opened him up with.

You consider leaving a hole.

You promised, though, and he's your best friend. You can't break a promise to him. So you sew him up the rest of the way, cut the thread, and smooth his shirt back down, picking him up and letting him kiss you on the cheek.

"I love you," you say, kissing him on the mouth again. There's a little pause and you don't know if he's going to say anything but then you're smiling a bit of a goofy smile. "I'm glad you feel the same."


End file.
